Last time I looked they were still there, rusting metal posts beside a quiet country road near Boulsworth Hill, the summit in the south Pennine chain on the Lancashire/Yorkshire border. Once upon a time, the posts had a purpose. They carried peremptory ‘keep out, private’ signs, just in case any passing walkers were eyeing up the wild but beautiful moorlands beyond as territory to explore.
The posts remain but the signs are no more. This year marks the 25th anniversary of the passing into law of the Countryside and Rights of Way Act, a landmark piece of legislation celebrated by everyone who believes that mountain and moorland should be there for all to enjoy, not just those invited to have a pop at the grouse.
A quarter of a century ago, the final lobbying was underway at Westminster as the details of the legislation were battled over – because, of course, powerful interest groups were determined to stop this ‘right to roam’. I remember taking the then Burnley Labour MP, Gordon Prentice, across the Boulsworth plateau on what was still forbidden land (he became particularly animated when we reached the ‘invisible’ line in the boggy moorland vegetation that marked the start of his constituency). Later, the Environment Minister Michael Meacher was also brought trespassing this way, to see for himself the countryside which the legislation he was shepherding through parliament would open up.
The CRoW Act was a great achievement, the culmination of at least a century of struggle for access rights to the countryside. This year’s anniversary needs commemorating. But, for many people, it remains unfinished business. The default position in England and Wales is still that you’re excluded from the countryside unless you’re told otherwise, unless you’re walking where the CRoW Act mapping exercise positively identified so-called access land or unless you’re on a traditional right of way. Woodlands, riverbanks and lowland hills and dales are likely to be out of bounds. It’s disappointing that pre-election talk by Labour of new access legislation has disappeared from sight since they took power. 
North of the border
It’s very different in Scotland. In fact, in Scotland the position is exactly reversed: the default is that everyone is free to wander at will through the countryside, subject only to some sensible exceptions – things like private gardens, cultivated fields, military bases and the like. Not only is there freedom to walk, there’s also freedom to cycle, horse-ride, wild camp and even hang-glide or kayak down the waterways. These rights come with the obligation to act responsibly and to respect the interests of others using the land. However, landowners in turn have an obligation to enable those on their lands to have a safe and enjoyable visit.
I was reminded of the differences between Scotland and the rest of our island when, recently, I found myself skirting the border on the Cheviots. At the time, I was halfway through a long-distance walk, research for what has now become my book, The Borders: The Lands We Share, published by Gritstone, a Northern-based, author-run publishing co-operative. It’s not a walking book per se, but my original hike provided the necessary framework for what is my interpretation of how human activity has shaped these distinctive landscapes and how – particularly as a consequence of climate change – the landscapes are being changed once again.
Heading south, I reached the Scotland/England border where the quiet green pathway that is all that remains of Dere Street, the old Roman road from York to Scotland, bumps into the Pennine Way. There is little to mark the border. There is certainly no ‘welcome to England/Scotland’ signage to signal that you’re moving from one nation’s territory to another. However, there is an official-looking sign affixed to a gateway, advising walkers that they’re moving from one access legislative framework to another. If you’re heading south, you no longer have access rights you’ve been able to enjoy north of the border.
Of course, Scotland’s rights were also hard fought for. In my book, I introduce the figure of Walter Smith, the 19th-century Edinburgh man who, as Secretary of the Scottish Rights of Way and Recreation Society, was in the thick of the struggle for access at a time when landowners were aggressively pushing back on the previous de facto right to roam. Despite Smith’s efforts, and those of his colleague MP James Bryce, Scotland had to wait three years longer than England and Wales for the newly restored Scottish Parliament to pass its landmark Land Reform Act of 2003 and to make those claimed de facto rights proper legal rights.
Copyright Andrew Bibby
The political agenda
Land reform, land ownership and land usage are much higher on the political agenda in Scotland than they are south of the border. In fact, legislation is currently making its way through the Parliament in Holyrood for what in due course should be the third Land Reform Act (even if this draft legislation has been criticised by those in the land reform movement for being too cautious). There have been some significant achievements in recent years in Scotland, including welcome community takeovers of some of the large estates. However, community ownership still accounts for only 3 per cent or so of Scotland’s land while 83 per cent remains in private hands.
Nevertheless, at least the issues are being discussed in Scotland. Since the Parliament was established, I sense that more space has opened up for political engagement and grassroots initiatives around land issues. It’s not the same in England. It’s been a long time since the Land Nationalisation Society was a significant pressure group in England with the ear of powerful friends in parliament, or since Lloyd George in his 1909 People’s Budget tried to introduce a measure of land value taxation (to which the House of Lords promptly said no).
My walk south from Edinburgh ended in North Yorkshire, on the banks of the River Swale at Catterick. Walking has its own rhythm, a slow rhythm, allowing you time to absorb what you see and to think things through. What I pondered as I walked has now found its way onto paper and into my book. My argument, I think, boils down to this: those of us who live south of the border need to tackle some of the land issues that activists in Scotland have been raising. There are so many interlocking matters to address, including land values and land taxation, the effect of carbon offsetting on the financialisation of the uplands, peat degradation and carbon emissions, the nature of public subsidies for upland farming, the loss of biodiversity, the lack of funding for our national parks, grouse shooting and raptor persecution, and the possibilities of taking land into community custodianship.
There’s one more thing: the right to have much, much more of our countryside opened up for all to enjoy.
Main image by Andrew Bibby
Andrew Bibby is a writer and journalist who lives in the Calder Valley in West Yorkshire. His new book, The Borders: The Lands We Share (Gritstone Publishing, £15), is available at bookshops or from www.gritstonecoop.co.uk.
